Youth Of The Nation
by FireCracker2000
Summary: Unfinished. An ultimate, totally awesome Marvel Comics crossover epic.
1. Introduction

Youth Of The Nation  
  
Introduction  
  
'The world is a changing place. Evolution is tearing through us and shaping the way we live our lives, the people we love...and those we hate. As the lives of those branded as 'different' begin to weave together, it becomes apparent that they will have to band together to save a world that hates them...as well as their very lives.' This is a massive Marvel Comics crossover piece that has been brewing in my mind for almost eight years, but has come together over only the last few months. There are many things to explain if you are going to embark on this little epic of mine, and I would like to take the time to do that now. First off, Cascade is my own creation, my Mary-Sue I'm sorry to say (but she's cool - I promise!) When my brother and I were younger we absolutely loved the X-Men cartoon show and would spend hours pretending we had joined the team by running round our back garden, jumping in and out of trees. His character has changed many times, but Cascade has always been mine...although she started life out as 'Atlantic'...eesh! Anyway, YES, she is therefore a Mary-Sue, as she has my name and some of my characteristics and background, but I PROMISE she is neither 'perfect' or insipid, as most of these characters seem to be. I love her just as dearly as my other original characters, here and in other works, and you have my word she will be a 100% proper, well-rounded character :-) As for the prologue, I would like to state that myself and my brother are making authentic cameos, however the parents are a work of fiction, and merely act as a catalyst for what is to come. Right, onto the other characters. X-Men is based after the second film, so the characters seen there will be living at the mansion...plus obviously, Jean is 'dead', Pyro has left and all the other events will be the main basis for the plot. I will, however, be taking influences from the cartoon show and 'Ultimate X-Men', as well as the other various comic book incarnations I have come across along the way. Spiderman is from the latest (and best!) comic book series 'Ultimate Spiderman', as I personally think it's the best incarnation. Therefore, Peter is a Junior at high school, he's dating Mary-Jane (who knows he's Spiderman), Gwen Stacey is living at his house, due to the death of her father at the hands of a Spidy impersonator (but she thinks HE really did it) and the Green Goblin is dead, leaving Harry an orphan; he saw the Goblin murder his mother in a fire that engulfed their home, and knows that he was his father. He is now being looked after by Nick Fury and the rest of the team at S.H.I.E.L.D. DareDevil is from the fantastic film, and so is Ben Urich (even though he's in U.S., I'm using Joe Pantoliano's portrayal as he's so cool!) The rest of the characters are from general, mish-mashed origins, and don't have any particular background so to speak. The style of writing is inspired by the likes of Stephen King and Michael Crichton; I wanted to tell a single, linier narrative from a multi- focal character perspective. I guess I felt like a challenge :-) Right! Here's the real thing. To be honest, I've done a bit of a Tolkien and am not too sure where I'm going with this...but hey, it'll all turn out alright in the end! I hope you enjoy it :-) Oh, and by the way, the title is from the P.O.D. song quoted in the prologue, and the general feel of the story is derived from this song and a number of other ones like it, which I might site as I go along...I'm not too sure yet. It's a great song, so get your hands on it if you can :-) Okay, finally, REALLY finished talking now...read the story!!! ...For my brother John, muse and encyclopedia. 


	2. Prologue

Youth Of The Nation  
  
Prologue  
  
"Who's to blame, for the life the tragedies claim? No matter what you say, it don't take away the pain. That I - feel inside, I'm tired of all the lies, Don't nobody know why, it's the blind leading the blind. Guess that's the way that the story goes, Will it ever make sense? Somebody's gotta know. There's got to be more to life than this, There's got to be more to everything I thought exists. We are, we are - The youth of the nation. We are, we are - The youth of the nation."  
  
P.O.D.  
  
Make it stop - please, make it stop! Oh God - stop, PLEASE!  
But it never would, no mater how much she begged.  
It was like this, night after night, whenever he came home from work, the screaming would start. As the dark and twisted shadows crept around Helen's bedroom the yelling and crying wound its way up the staircase, filling the corridors and seeping under the doors. She crouched in the very corner of her room and listened to the same arguments that her parents threw at one another over and over again, always the same, always shattering to the bone.  
She pressed her hands tighter and tighter over her ears, willing it to end, praying it would stop before something got broken. Or maybe someone. Tears spilled down her face with renewed fervour; her mother ran up the stairs, screaming about his late nights and did he think she was stupid saying it was 'just work' all the time and who was this Sarah anyway and did he think she was stupid?!  
What the Hell do you want from me was always, always the response, and then more crying, pleading, be home, be home for the birthdays, spend time with me, spend time with us!  
It's never enough, never enough is it?! And then the sound of picture frames smashing off the walls, more screaming, resonating off the heavy bricks of the house, more crying, and stop it - you'll wake the children.  
Please make it stop. Helen rocked on the balls of her feet, hugging her knees, her back against the radiator. She could hear her brother in the room next to her; pulling the covers off his bed and dragging them to the floor, heaving them over his head, hiding in the wardrobe. She wanted to run in there with him, have him curl up in her lap and they would rock to sleep together, like always. But the fight was right outside her room; she was trapped.  
She ran her fingers through her hair, it was slick through with sweat, tears splashed on her knees, her pyjamas were soaked. There was screaming, back and forth, back and forth, like a tennis match of will power, and still they did not move.  
Please - just let me out!  
Helen buried her wet face in her hands, sobs shuddering from within her ribcage, rattling out, tearing through her throat. The silky material of her nightwear stuck fast to her back, and she was so, so cold.  
She took her hands away from her face and slowly looked at them, her breath ragged and thick, her eyes glassy and wide.  
Water was running down her arms, pouring in little jagged streams into her lap, onto the floor, the carpet; she was sitting in a puddle. Her breathing very nearly came to a stop, her stomach contorting, sucking in air sporadically, making her heave. Her eyes were on her shaking hands, trembling under her terrified gaze. It was as if she were holding them under an invisible fountain, or the fat ornate tap in the bath; water was bubbling and gurgling from her palms, splashing all over her even more vigorously now she was giving it her full attention, as if fuelled by her mere concentration on the act.  
Her parents screaming reached fever pitch, doors slamming and ornaments breaking. Helen gasped for air. "What's happening, WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" The gage on the radiator spun off, smacking into the bookcase, and the boiling, pressurized water shot out of its metal casing, spraying the room and everything in it. Now it was Helen's turn to scream.  
All over the house, the radiators, all turned up to the max to get them through the winter months, burst open, tearing through the rooms, drenching the walls and furniture. John was screaming, the dogs barked and howled, and the emersion tank broke loose of its fitting in the attic and came crashing through into the landing. The water cascaded down the walls, just as it was pouring from her hands, flooding her room.  
Her parents began to beat on the locked door as she crumpled to the ground.  
"Please - make it stop - just make it STOP!" 


	3. Chapter One

Chapter One  
  
To the unsuspecting eye, there was nothing remarkable looking about the two men as they stood beneath the bandstand in a park just outside of Baltimore. As the rain beat down through the dark, dark night, a clock struck the hour far off in the distance; in fact, it was only just audible to the two as they stood side by side, facing out into the blackness. One of them lit a cigarette.  
"Well?"  
They wore suits, expensive ones if you could get close enough to look, and dark coats which lightly scraped the ground, the wind easing them this way and that, as if trying to find the most comfortable position, and failing. These were not men of comfort.  
The second man felt a small smirk creep onto the corner of his mouth in spite of himself. The situation was not funny after all.  
"What did you expect?"  
The first man made a noise of disgust and flicked the cigarette between his fingers. "Some goddamn common sense."  
They stood in silence for a few moments after that, staring out into the sheeting rain. The man took a subtle drag of tobacco before dropping it to the ground and crushing it with the heal of his shoe. "So - what happens now?"  
"We proceed as planned."  
The man looked at his acquaintance. "How?" he asked, "without the proper authorisation-"  
"We have the proper authorisation," the other man interrupted, his voice clear cut and bold, "this party's co-operation was always a mere formality." He smiled to himself as the other man gave a nod of the head; a gesture of relief he assumed. "Preparations must start as soon as possible."  
"Yes," agreed the first man, lighting another cigarette, "absolutely."  
He stepped down off the bandstand and into the rain, though he didn't seem to notice as the water began pelting down his back. He turned back to face the second man. "I don't understand it though?"  
He smirked for the second time. "I guess you could say, there was a change of heart."  
  
***  
  
Jubilee stretched out on her sun bed by the mansion's pool and fiddled carefully with the dials on her CD player; she seriously didn't want to have to buy another one. Again. She couldn't help it in her defence, her hands were charged with explosive energy, and if she wasn't careful around electrical equipment: boom. Literally her own personal 4th of July.  
She sighed and rolled onto her front. This was in fact her third player of the summer, and she was, as a result, now broke, and could therefore not afford to buy another one unless she asked for a loan, which she really didn't want to do.  
The sun was sweltering, and Jubilee thought she ought to put some more lotion on. She sat up and looked around her chair for the bottle, but couldn't see it anywhere. Frowning, she pulled herself out of the rather comfy position she had wiggled her way into over the last few of hours and crouched to look right under the chair. Nothing. She put her hands angrily on her hips, only slightly aware that a couple of the younger boys' jaws had dropped at the sight of her in her bikini, resulting in one of them getting smacked full on in the face with a basketball as their fellow team-mates carried on with their game unaware. Someone's stolen it, she thought, peeved. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it round her waist before walking purposefully back into Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. So accustomed to the bright sunshine from outside, she couldn't see a single thing when she stepped over the threshold and into the rec-room; she could, however, hear the laughing. She snatched her pink sunglasses off her face and peered into the gloom, her vision improving by the minute.  
"Okay," she said, "which clever-ass has my lotion?"  
Bobby Drake sniggered. "Nothing to do with me!" he cried, and he and Rogue burst into more giggling. What are you, twelve? Thought Jubilee, but didn't give them the satisfaction of actually saying it out loud.  
"Ooh - Jubilee is in a mo-ood!," said Peter in a sing-song voice.  
"Oh shut up," she snapped, "I am not." Nobody moved, or offered any help - they all were just sitting there laughing, waiting for her to start looking for it. Well, they could wait all they liked. "Fine," she cried, "I'll just get a new bottle."  
She stepped towards the door. "Hot!"  
She turned round. One of the boys had hopped up on his feet. "You're getting hotter!" he cried. Jubilee gritted her teeth. She really, really, didn't want to play the stupid game, and realised if she didn't she would win and really piss them off in the process, but she found herself taking another step to the left.  
"Cold!" shouted several of the students. She stepped a couple of paces to the right. "Getting warmer!" She grinned in spite of herself; she was actually kind of enjoying herself. "Warm, hot - boiling! Scorching your feet off!" She leapt up on the pool table and looked above the cabinet with all the sports equipment in. Arthur Johnson was sitting on the top, grinning and holding a bottle of bright blue Tropicana suntan lotion.  
"Artie!" she squealed, making everyone else burst into fresh peals of laughter. He jumped up and scuttled down the cabinet door, leaving Jubilee to jump back off the table and pursue the little boy on foot. She caught him easily, being a good few years older, and not actually crippled with her own laughing. She snatched the bottle from his grasp.  
"I suppose you think you're funny?" she demanded.  
He grinned even further. "Everyone else does," he replied cheekily, making them laugh again, "and I've told you - my name's not Artie anymore!"  
Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Well what is it then?"  
"Gecko!" he cried before poking his signature blue forked tongue out and running off.  
"I guess that told you, huh, Jubilee?" yelled Kitty Pride from across the room, and then hid her face behind an upside down magazine. If she hadn't of been Jubilee's best friend, she probably would have walked over there and smacked her one. But she was, so Jubilee just grinned, shook her head, and walked back outside.  
The sun gradually set making the patio cooler. Jubilee yawned and turned over onto her back. She should probably go inside and start on that History essay Storm had set for them, but she really couldn't be bothered. It was getting cold though, the odd strong breeze was enough to make her shudder. With a defeated sigh she pulled together her things and went into the house.  
The rec-room was almost empty now; most people had gone to dinner. Jubilee didn't feel hungry though, so walked away from the kitchen and headed straight for the dormitories, tracing her hand along the walls as she went, enjoying the odd blue spark that fizzed and crackled from the friction against her fingers.  
Gifted youngsters, she mused, it would probably have been a better idea to call it the school for freaks, then at least everyone would have understood what it meant. They were mutants, the whole lot of them, seeking refuge in a place where they could just get on with their lives and not have to worry about being lynched or anything else equally vile.  
Lately though, it seemed that nasty things went out of the way to find them wherever they went. That Spring the school itself had been attacked by some rouge branch of the government, and several students, including Jubilee, had been kidnapped. The young girl shuddered at the memory of being locked in that underground bunker; she really needed to get some more clothes on.  
They had been rescued, of course, by the X-Men. They were the older mutants, most of whom taught at the school, who used their powers to fight for equality between mutants and, well, everyone else. They were constantly up against resistance from both sides though; from regular humans who wanted nothing more than to lock every mutant up for good, to mutants themselves who's one goal in life it seemed was to rule the world and obliterate all of mankind. One such mutant group was Magneto's Brotherhood of Mutants, who had been involved in the incident last Spring. Even the government it seemed was after them, with their Mutant Registration Act. But that would perhaps be changing sooner rather than later.  
Jubilee sighed as she climbed the stairs, heading towards the dorms. Nobody really talked about what happened in Canada, it was a sort of unwritten rule, and not a very healthy one at that in Jubilee's opinion. Not everyone had returned to the mansion after Alkaline Lake had been destroyed, leaving a kind of black hole to eat away at those who were left. But, as said, nobody talked about it, so the problem never went away.  
Jubilee's mind wandered, thinking about her essay as she strode along the dark corridors; the sun had well and truly disappeared now. It took her a while to realise there was music coming from somewhere. She stopped walking to listen; it was somewhere along the next corridor, but she didn't think anyone lived down there? Treading softly, she made her way down towards the swelling violins until she was standing right outside the door. Gingerly, she pushed it open. "Hello," she said into the darkness. The was no reply. She stepped inside and looked around; the room was empty and illuminated only by the flashing panel on the sound system. It was simply furnished; a bed, a wardrobe, a single picture frame hanging on the wall, though Jubilee could not see the painting inside. I guess someone does live here, she thought in answer to her earlier question. She looked over to the open window, and made a move to go stand by it, take in the view.  
"You like Vivaldi little one?" Jubilee jumped in fright and spun round to see who had spoken. Nightcrawler was perched on the chest of draws. He had definitely not been there a second or two ago. He laughed as the tale- tale wisps of smoke dissipated. "Forgive me - I did not mean to frighten you."  
Jubilee laughed nervously herself. "That's okay - I probably shouldn't have come into your room uninvited." Nightcrawler smiled, making him look even more like a demon. Jubilee hadn't really spoken much to the blue mutant; he had only just started teaching a couple of their classes and he never seemed to be around for the rest of the daytime. She was wondering if he even lived in the mansion at all.  
"Curiosity killed the cat, no?" His German accent tripped up slightly on the word 'curiosity', but Jubilee had grown used to it. Even though he had been living with them for a good few months now, Nightcrawler still unsettled many of the other inhabitants of the mansion; even Jubilee, who had been one of several children he had helped to rescue out in Canada. But he really was a gentle creature, and it wasn't surprising to find him wrapt up by himself in the dark, enveloped in such moving music. "I was sitting on the roof, gazing at the stars - it was very peaceful," he told her.  
"I'm sure it was," Jubilee replied warmly, "sorry I disturbed you."  
Nightcrawler waved one of his three fingered hands in dismissal. "Not at all, I am happy you were intrigued by the music." He looked as if he might say something else, but a thought seemed to strike him as he opened his mouth. He appeared to be listening to something intently, before looking back at Jubilee. "I am afraid I am going to have to leave you to enjoy the music alone," he said, "the Professor wishes to see me." And with a slight popping noise, he vanished into a cloud of smoke, presumably re-appearing somewhere else intact within the mansion to talk with Professor Xavier.  
Jubilee didn't mind being left alone; she needed to get some proper clothes on anyway. Before she went though, she wondered over to the window and looked out at the stars, the violins gently stirring with the breeze on her face. It really was beautiful out there.  
  
***  
  
Cascade could no longer feel her feet, or her fingers, or anything else for that matter, apart from wave after wave of nausea flowing through her gut. She was tired and dirty and more than a little scared to be honest, but pride made her bite her tongue and get on with it. The plane had just come into land at the airport, or what substituted for an airport out here in the backend of nowhere, and the young girl groped for her bags in the dim light. She was by far the youngest on the flight, though she didn't look it; people always thought she was older than she was and it suited her just fine. Her companions shared a worn, resigned expression between them that came from constant uncertainty and over kill of the adrenal glands. Still, this was the life they had chosen, and Cascade was sure that not one of them would give it up without a great deal of persuasion, she included.  
  
The door opened, and the dozen or so passengers filed out into the night. They were escorted by an armed guard to a nearby canopy type arrangement where a second and third soldier began to check over their papers. Cascade was pushed to the back of the line; she didn't protest, it wasn't worth it. They weren't exactly going anywhere fast.  
The people slowly made their way forward, some left in pairs or threes, others, like Cascade, were travelling alone. The man sitting behind the desk spoke a few words to each in a variety of languages before stamping something on a specific piece of paper. He was efficient in his work, though as Cascade stepped closer she got the impression he was not overly hostile, which was a relief. Travelling via the army barracks sometimes meant you got an involuntary arse kicking just for being there.  
Eventually, Cascade was the only one left. The lieutenant, or whatever rank he was, held open his hand for the documents she already had out waiting for him. He looked her up and down, then flipped to the back of her passport. His eyebrows raised slightly, presumably at her age, but he said nothing. He looked over her visa, ticking various boxes as he did so, and read through some of her documentation. "Miss Helen...Haslam?" he asked. Cascade nodded, although she hadn't used that name for a very long time. He picked up one of her certificates from the Red Cross. "You come here to work?" She nodded once again; he piled her papers back together and handed them back to her. She quickly put them back in her rucksack. The man began to pack up his affects as the other two stood looking out across the causeway. He caught Cascade's eye as she made to leave.  
"Welcome to Bosnia, Miss Haslam," he said. Cascade smiled, then walked in the direction the others had gone, praying it was the right way.  
  
***  
  
The tube was packed as always, that was no surprise. As Elizabeth Braddock stepped into the carriage she knew full well that she would be pressed from all sides as she made the short trip into the centre of the city. The thing she didn't normally have to contend with though was the fact that the air-conditioning would be broken in the middle of June. She grimaced and adjusted her glasses; this was not what she needed right before work. In fact, she was pretty sure she never needed this. Her shoes were rubbing already at her bare feet, minus the usual tights, and her skirt had got hitched up by someone else's briefcase. She sighed and blew a length of hair from her face. This was definitely not what she needed. The train pulled out of the station and into the next with reasonable speed, and the passengers rearranged themselves around Elizabeth who tried her best not to get knocked about too much. Most people kept their heads to the ground, engrossed in their own thoughts. There were the token few talking noisily on mobile phones, and tourists, though not so many at this time of the morning; give it an hour or two and they would be there in their swaths on their way to the Tower and the Eye and various other places of amusement. Nobody paid much attention to each other, although it was noticeable that Elizabeth caught the eye of several of her fellow commuters with her striking posture and raven black hair; she had always had that kind of effect on people. She paid them no heed though, she had no reason to. She simply gazed out the window into the blackness and thought about the million and one things she was probably going to be expected to get done before lunch.  
The train came to halt yet again, and this time Elizabeth made her way through the crowd and onto the platform, pushing against a new host of people trying to be the first on the carriage in order to get themselves a seat. Elizabeth really didn't see the point; it was so hot in there, it was far batter to stand than press your legs against those filthy, itchy seats. Stepping onto the platform, she was greeted by the familiar warning to 'mind the gap', and a welcoming breeze sweeping through the drafty tunnels and passages of the Underground. She sighed and began making her way up the many stairs and escalators, pausing only to drop a pound or two into the guitar case of a young man playing an old Beatles number, her bare feet still rubbing against her shoes. She had to blink for a moment or two upon reaching the street, so bright was the sunshine. She turned right and carried on walking, stopping at the nearest Starbucks to grab a Latte and a copy of The Independent. She didn't even bother to look at the newspaper, just tucked it under her arm and continued on her journey, sipping her coffee as she went.  
It was just before eight by the time Elizabeth made it to the front doors of her work. She had to stop and one-handedly fish her security pass out from under her blouse and not try and drop her briefcase, paper, or cardboard mug of coffee on the pavement. Eventually she hooked the damn thing out with her thumb and flashed it in front of the sensor, making the door open with a swish. She let out a breath to compose herself slightly, then walked over to the elevator. "Good morning Ms Braddock," called the receptionist cheerfully.  
"Good morning Henry," replied Elizabeth to the older gentleman. The fact that there were a great many other people also making their way across the lobby who did not get a greeting was not lost on most.  
Elizabeth stepped into the lift with a dozen or so other people. She considered pressing the button herself for the sixteenth floor, but after the issue she'd had with her pass outside she decided it was probably best to ask the Asian woman standing nearest the panel to do it for her.  
Of course, Elizabeth could have completed both tasks, the pass and the button, another way if she'd wished. But she didn't like to do it in front of the general public; it tended to unnerve them, even with her high status within the building. On her own floor though, in her own office, that was a different matter.  
As the lift ascended, its passengers gradually exited one by one, until there were very few people left at all. Elizabeth was the only employee to depart on the sixteenth floor. She smiled and nodded to the two gentlemen who were left and stepped out into the smaller lobby; she was met by the sent of fresh flowers and a hubbub of phones ringing. She walked down the corridor to the right and stopped as she came to her own assistant's desk outside her office.  
"Morning Claire," she said, placing her Latte on the top of the reception, her briefcase on the floor by her feet, and picking up the pile of messages already waiting for her, the paper still under her arm.  
"Morning Elizabeth," the twenty-something brunette replied, looking up from her typing. "How was your journey in?"  
"Oh peachy," said Elizabeth, a touch of humour in her voice as she flicked through the annotated papers. "Is James in yet?"  
Claire nodded, her eyes back on the screen. "He's in a meeting till eight thirty though, but then he wants to see you - he said it was important."  
"It's always important," Elizabeth mused, thinking about just how much her boss monopolised her time. Fair enough though, she was a rather special employee. She picked up her briefcase from off the floor and made to go into her office, still flicking through her messages, prioritising the work and calls.  
"Er - Elizabeth?" She turned round. Claire indicated the coffee she had left on the side. Elizabeth sighed, transferred the messages into her hand holding the briefcase, and reached out with her now free hand. The cardboard carton lifted gently off the desk and floated into her hand. Claire frowned and stopped typing. "You shouldn't do that you know."  
Elizabeth, who had turned to once again try and walk to her office, faced her assistant once more. "Why not?"  
"You could just have easily walked over and got it."  
"Yes," said Elizabeth patiently, "but my plan was to save time and get into my office quicker, a plan you have now cleverly foiled."  
Claire made a face. "It's just - there's trouble y'know, all that stuff in the papers, I don't think you should be advertising...y'know...like that."  
"Claire if you think-" Elizabeth faltered as her mobile went off in her pocket making her jump. She sighed in a resigned sort of way, let go of everything she was holding, using her telekinetic powers to hold it all in mid air as she reached for the phone. "If you think," she continued, "that I give a good God damn what you, The Sun newspaper - and I use the term newspaper loosely - or anyone else thinks about my being a mutant, you can bloody well guess again. I've got far more important things on my mind."  
Claire looked a little hurt. "I only meant coz of that American Mutant Registration Act they're trying to push through, the President-"  
"Alexander will never pass such an act, Claire. In fact, he's meeting with several influential members of the mutant community this week to discuss the issue."  
Claire didn't look too convinced. "But only a couple of months ago he was all for it - with all that stuff that happened in New York?"  
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile as she finally located the still vibrating phone. "Lets just say, there was a change of heart." 


End file.
